


End Times

by Fanlan



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst With A Happy End, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Forced Isolation, Kidnapping, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Aziraphale, Rape/non con elements, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-10-05 16:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20491484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/pseuds/Fanlan
Summary: As prophesied by one Agnes Nutter, a demon would impregnate an angel with the antichrist. Two opposing sides joining together would create an unholy child and when Heaven and Hell find out, it can only mean bad things for Aziraphale, the angel in this prophecy carrying said antichrist.





	1. The beginning: 1999

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Конец Времен](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001778) by [HeathrowLiss (LollyBomb95)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollyBomb95/pseuds/HeathrowLiss)

> Listen...I just have weird ideas and sometimes I gotta share them.

Humans had a way of inventing their own demises, each self-imposed prophecy becoming more and more creative with time. Aziraphale saw dooms day prophets every day on the corner, outside each busy street, but they seemed to double now with the newest ‘Y2K’ scare. 

Aziraphale was always one for being petty, when the sixth person yelled at him to let go of his mortal comforts and embrace Jesus, he bought a computer, the little devices that were supposed to bring about the end. 

The young man at the cash register found this rather funny and so did a familiar voice behind him in line. 

“Don’t ya know those things are gonna end the world, Angel?” 

Aziraphale huffed at Crowley, not asking to know why he was in Soho when he probably should be damning souls tonight, instead shoving the rather heavy large laptop box into his hands. He primly straightened his shoulders and lead them both out of the shop towards the Bentley which had been parked illegally on the curb and sitting snuggly in the passenger seat while Crowley packed his brand-new laptop into the trunk. 

At some point into the night, setting up the computer was abandoned. It had been replaced with copious amounts of alcohol and an attempt was made on Aziraphale’s part to bake crumpets and tea to sober up, but it only lead to the baking sherry being consumed. 

This was all a recipe to the end, a recipe towards a prophecy foretold by one Agnes Nutter years and years before. Though Aziraphale was tasked to collect prophecies and track the ineffable plan and find out when She wished the end time to happen, he had never managed to get his hands on a copy of this prophecy. If he did, he would know an angel and a demon bedding would plant the seeds for the antichrist’s birth. It just happened to be coincidence this child was conceived during the turn of the millennium, when most mortals thought end times would occur. 

Crowley drunkenly rutted once more into Aziraphale, cumming all over his angel’s chest as he pulled out making him giggle pulling Crowley close to him. 

“Are you going to clean that up before you go?” 

He whispered nipping at Crowley’s neck and kissing his new tattoo he had, Aziraphale had never noticed this tattoo before, he attempted to question its origins, but he had forgotten the question as Crowley looked him in the eyes. 

“You have such beautiful eyes, my darling,” he whispered gently kissing each eyelid as Crowley blushed and attempted to hide his serpent like irises. 

“Bloody, great big liar,” Crowley grumbled kissing down his lover’s neck and running his long-forked tongue over the mess he had made on his lover’s round and soft belly. Licking clean his previous mess, “But yer my great big, beautiful liar.” 

They went another three rounds that night, Crowley managing to cum into Aziraphale each time after the initial miss. Aziraphale encouragingly panting his lover’s name and offering a kiss with each orgasm the two had together. 

This would be the last time they would see each other for seven years, but they rang in the millennium in their own special way and made those years feel not as long. 

Crowley left Aziraphale later that night after both sobered up and each drop of liquor they consumed returned to the bottle. They gave each other a goodbye kiss and a whispered ‘I love you’ and Crowley caught his early morning flight to America where he would be for the duration of the unknown pregnancy Aziraphale wouldn’t find out about till the following year. 

The hypothetical clock had begun to tick, eighteen years from now the end of the world would happen. A long seven-year pregnancy for an immortal being and an eleven year stretch of time before the eleventh birthday would bring about the end of times. 

Heaven and Hell would find out about this before either Aziraphale or Crowley would notice they had doomed the humans they loved so fondly and to say this would not end well for Aziraphale in particular who was carrying the key to Armageddon would be an understatement.


	2. Growing

-2000-

The start would always be that day in Eden when Aziraphale, giving away his sword and holding his wing protectively over his hereditary enemy, would make a demon let go of just enough anger and hatred to fall in love.

The beginning would be that day in 1967 when Aziraphale would change the course of their histories by allowing Crowley to drive him home and both would confess their feelings for one another.

The clock began ticking down to the end of all things on New Years Eve 1999 when the demon and angel would finally consummate their forbidden relationship after going slow and steady for over thirty years, kissing and blushing as fingers met.

The beginning of this story would start, and the plot would unfold when Aziraphale had finally run out of luck. When a low level, a no one demon would be the first to learn he was with child, if only by chance and it would all go down hill from there.

It was disgustingly bright and sunny. The Demon known as Tarrare had just gotten off his bus and he wasn’t feeling like this was a good day for anything.

He was well known for his tempting mortals into gluttony and well he was a big fan of the sin himself. He had been hoping to work alongside the likes of famine someday, he had always been good at getting aristocrats to overindulge and the principle remained with the work he did in America.

The demon Crawly had taken the position he had wanted, going to America and he didn’t even appreciate it. Ligur suspected the angel of Soho was up to something so he was here to take care of that, why the dukes didn’t just play cat and mouse with Crawly’s little pet, he would never truly know. Lazy bastards…

Soho was a quiet, lazy little subsection of London. Tarrare supposed he could be in worse places; it seemed the place had a nice selection of sushi joints and well that was always a plus. 

He smelt miracles in the air, it was heavenly and sickeningly sweet, the scent of an innocent flower. Tarrare didn’t remember the English name for said flowers and supposed it didn’t matter, he walked down the streets and saw him for the first time, the angel of Soho, the one tasked with hunting down prophecies. Crawly played cat and mouse with him, pretty thing, this one. Rotund curves, clean and well-loved cloths, well maintained nails and pretty blue eyes lighting up a pretty face and a light hair that glowed white in the afternoon sun. He once had an angel, he was nothing like this, pretentious ass, large and stout, liked physical violence, got himself recalled to Heaven after smiting a sinful city with a volcanic eruption. He got a promotion while Terrare had to keep wandering the streets, starving and not powerful enough to make enough food from nothing for himself. 

This angel didn’t look dangerous, Crawly probably didn’t have to do much to thwart the pretty, tasty looking thing. Would it be against the rules to discorporate the pretty little thing? Kill him just to see what that plump, clean flesh tasted like?

He was pondering these things watching the angel order ice cream from the cart, taking his sweet time, pink lips pouted and fingers rested under his chin, taking in the choices. Terrare licked his lips, he had made his choice. He reached into himself, using his inner eye to calculate how strong the angel was and what his chances were against his true essence should the pretty thing choose to fight, but instantly found himself cowering, backing away and running.

That was no angel, it was something else, something dangerous. Something was in it, something occult and something eternal. Something new and something scary was resting inside that thing.

;

Aziraphale finished his ice cream but still found himself feeling empty. He gnawed at his lip, thought on it a moment and considered trying out that American fast food joint that was all the buzz. It was hardly refined food and if anything was gross matter, it was only frozen and processed food thrown in a deep fryer without love or care but he found himself licking his lips at the thought of it.

He rubbed his stomach; he had been having strange urges lately and he wasn’t sure what to make of them. He had actually slept the last three nights, just the thought! He had found himself nodding off in his favorite chair when the night was young and woke up in the mid-morning, missing his own opening hours of 1 am!

He considered telling someone of his corporal form acting up, maybe it was bound to happen, he had had it six thousand years, maybe it needed a….

Aziraphale paused, putting hand primly under his chin, chewing on the thought slowly before snapping and proudly wiggling when the word came to him. Tune up! Just like Crowley’s car, needed a service check every few years to keep it running smoothly, maybe his corporal form was the same.

He would ask Gabriel when he came to visit next month, he was always rather nervous about Gabriel’s visits but now more then ever. He fretted their may be something wrong with his poor body and he would just hate to have to get a new one, he quite liked how this one looked and felt.

He decided upon calling Crowley to ease his nerves, he had one of those new devices that were all the rage, a carry phone? No that wasn’t it, but it was a portable phone all the same.

He pulled out his address book and dialed up Crowley’s new number.

“Hello, my angel, my divine heavenly creature, the only temptation my sinful heart will ever be ensnared by.”

Aziraphale giggled at the Casanova swoon he was trying to pull off, he had been doing silly things like that since they had begun their forbidden romance.

“I quite miss you, Darling,” he admitted wrapping his fingers around the phone cord, “It is just so dreadfully boring without someone here to thwart.”

“America is droll and tasteless and filled to the brim with bastards,” Crowley grumbled and Aziraphale could see his smirk clearly as he added, “Only need one bloody bastard in my life and he’s at home, no doubt drinking that wine I was saving and up to no good without me. Reading the worst filth and having all kinds of fun with that saintly cunt without me there to see…”

Aziraphale smirked and pouted his lips but said in his best dry voice, “And what of it darling?”

“Right bastard you are, gonna bend you over my knee the second I get back.”

Aziraphale felt something untighten in his chest just listening to Crowley, he had missed him so dreadfully. It was a miserable experience now more then ever to be without him, he had another six years to go before Hell would let him come home. Something big was happening in America and they needed their best tempters their and they had taken his wily serpent when he felt he just needed him most.

He didn’t end up telling him he feared there was something greatly wrong with him, that would feel rude, it would be ruining a perfectly good mood. The call ended an hour later when they both needed to get to work.

Aziraphale went back to the new prophecies he had found, he was quite excited, while he didn’t find the full copy of the lost and fabled ‘The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter’ he did find a page that had been translated to French (a language he had never been good at grasping) tucked away in a Bible misprint he had won in the last auction.

Most of the copies of Agnes’s book were lost to time, they had been translated to a few languages before every print was destroyed but alas, only scattered pages here and there were ever discovered. It was the holy grail of every Prophesy collector’s library.

;

Hell was boring and being the Prince of this place was torture.

Beelzebub sat in their throne, drumming their fingers impatiently, glaring straight at the gluttony demon Duke Hastur had drug before them. Both demons were quaking, staring with large eyes at their prince, eyes following the flies swarming around them. Normally, they would allow them to squirm longer but even fear of the underlings grew tiresome.

“Speak or get out of my sight.”

“The angel…the one Crawly is always messin’ about with…”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes, tattle tailing on Crawly once more, Hastur didn’t always see the bigger scope and lacked creativity. Crawly was unusual yes but he was useful, the same couldn’t be said about the pitiful demons Hastur was always sending out to do his dirty work. A Gluttony Demon who hadn’t pulled in souls since 1690, what useful information could that one have?

“What of the angel?”

“It has something in it…something growin’!”

The Gluttony Demon was beside himself with absolute terror now, eyes blown out and shaking, this made Beelzebub raise an eyebrow. Growing?

“It ain’t demonic and it ain’t heavenly…its something…something new…”

Beelzebub opened their mouth but a voice in their head made them pause, it was their master calling upon them, their most loyal servant. Lucifer only talked through Beelzebub now and he had gone quiet so long, something must be up.

“This is a good thing, my prince, a good thing indeed. Bring me the angel. End times are coming.”


	3. Just Business

-2000-

“The Serpent of Eden shall lie with the angel who guarded it

The fyre of hell shall rise

End Times come with the seed he planted

Thy don’t believe but in seven years’ time the truth shall come out and eleven more till ye find out of yer mistake.

Ye have doomed us all, with each blundering mistake ye make.

Ye need to prepare, the end is nigh and if ye value man, ye shall dispose of the mistake before they arrive.”

Aziraphale had to have translated wrong, he must have, it almost seemed as though Agnes Nutter was speaking to him directly. Aziraphale picked up his translation book once more, his French had always been rusty and that had led to many shenanigans in the past. He felt a chill run through him making him shake as he almost heard a hoarse voice whispered the passage he read once more in his ear. 

He was being silly, he assured himself shutting the laptop after saving the passage he had just translated. He took a deep and calming breath to dispose of his nerves before entering the kitchen.

He put a kettle on the stove and began cleaning up the mess he had made the night before of dirty dishes and take out food garbage. He had been feeling lethargic lately and hadn’t been able to push himself to cleaning up his messes. He liked his things in an organized mess, yes, but this was disgusting.

The phone in the book shop began ringing and he went to answer it, before he could even say a word, the person on the other end was already talking.

“Is this Aziraphale?”

The woman was hasty and speaking as if she was running out of time but Aziraphale was glancing about. This had to be a trap. No mortal knew his true name and Crowley wouldn’t have a stranger contact him like this.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong shop,” he stated firmly, hanging up the phone, hearing the woman yelling for him not to just as he did.

;

Aziraphale could not get comfortable. His corporal form hurt.

A sharp pain running up and down his back, a strange burning in his chest that was making him nauseas and he had vomited today. For the first time in six thousand years of existing, he had vomited.

He had been lying in bed feeling dizzy and strange, he had rolled over to get up and make some tea to sooth out the problem when something lurched from his throat and there was no stopping the flood of stomach contents that splashed onto his poor unexpected books that had been lying next to the bed.

He had been uneasy the entire week, a prophecy that seemed to be talking to him specifically almost as if it was part of the ineffable plan he find it, that strange phone call with the woman who had addressed him by his true name, and of course his faulty corporal form.

He found himself lounging on the couch in the backroom, the shop locked up and closed and had been since the phone call. He considered calling Crowley, he missed Crowley so much it physically hurt but he was afraid. So afraid.

Crowley was the serpent from the prophecy and he was the angel and the ‘ye’ in all of this. What was the mistake? He put his hand on his stomach and closed his eyes, concentrating, feeling his own aura pulsing. He pushed until he felt it, every eye on his true form jolting open in shock making his corporal form glow bright, bright enough to blind anyone unlucky enough to look directly at him.

There was something else in him. He shot up, taking deep breaths until he stopped glowing, he raced over to the phone, shaking hard and finding it hard to dial each number without fumbling.

He got through the number finally and he heard Crowley’s hello before immediately slamming the phone down. There was a rapping at his door, he heard Gabriel call out to him. He mumbled out a curse word, one he never thought he would have to use as he straightened his cloths and made his way towards the door letting his supervisor in. 

;

There was a neutral territory Heaven and Hell had agreed upon to discuss things.

Purgatory was too obvious, and Death didn’t like demons or angels hanging around where he dumped unwanted, lost souls. St James had always served Aziraphale and Crowley well for secret meet ups, but their bosses weren’t as on the know about Earth customs and where people often went to settle underhand deals like these.

Instead they met in a fifties themed diner outside of Roswell in America, it was decided this would be the official meet up by Hastur, who had guaranteed his prince no one would find them out of place or odd here. It was apparently the weekly meeting place for UFO enthusiasts.

Beelzebub normally did business with Heaven through reports, sent lower level pawns to deal with them on Earth and it was normally the same with the Archangels. Now however, it was agreed through a series of letters that they should meet to discuss this and how to go about the beginning stages of The End.

Hell could just take their Principality but without going through proper channels first, that was asking for a raid on Hell they wouldn’t be prepared for. The War needed to begin on even grounds, there were rules to this, even Demons wouldn’t go against The Great Plan, to go against it would be stupid and pointless and just lead to another sour defeat.

Dagon sat tall next to their Prince’s slouching and bored form, Beelzebub had taken to examining the knife on the table, pondering if it would be a good weapon if things went sour. Both Demons tensed and straightened immediately as a bolt of lightening struck down on a sunny and cloudless afternoon. The mortals didn’t seem to take notice, but Beelzebub saw it and saw his arrival.

He was arrogant enough to walk proudly into what could be his death trap alone. 

“I hope you don’t expect me to bow,” Gabriel sneered towards the demon prince who sneered back.

“Sit down,” the prince snarled in return, “I want what is ours and I am here to take it.”

There was a lull in conversation as the Archangel slid into the booth, pompously folding his hands neatly in front of him as he sat tall, high and mighty as ever in front of Royalty. Acting as if an Archangel, not even a Cherubim, could equate Hell’s Royalty.

“You may have him,” Gabriel said with an eyeroll, “We have discussed it and if he carries the antichrist as your dark lord claims, it is part of the ineffable plan we are all bound by that the birth takes place. We only ask that we may have visits to insure you aren’t compromising said birth, you may do what you wish with the faulty Principality after the child is born.” 

“What are the arrangements to give us our angel?”

“You will have him tomorrow afternoon if you are patient,” he said with another eyeroll and a sigh and glance at his wrist watch as it was Beelzebub wasting his time, “We only wish to make certain the idiot hasn’t brought any damage to the child beforehand. He is rather incompetent and clumsy.” 

Gabriel chuckled making the demons glare harder before adding.

“We were beginning to fear Aziraphale had no purpose, that he may be defective but then you announce he is carrying the key to the war and it all suddenly makes sense why he is that way.”

“I shall go with you to see the angel,” Beelzebub stated firmly eying Gabriel, “I wish to see he is intact, and you aren’t up to any funny business.”

Gabriel just shrugged snapping his fingers and bringing forward a rolled scroll and feathered quill. He passed it to the prince of Hell and Dagon took it instead and began to scan through it for their prince.

“Its our agreed upon terms,” Gabriel said frankly checking his watch once more as Dagon read each line slowly, mumbling the gist of each line to their prince, “What we have negotiated on and how it will take place. Hell may have claim on the Principality Aziraphale as long as they do not bring harm to the child, after the child is born, you may keep him as a little token of our appreciation for getting the war started.”

Beelzebub nodded to their lord of flies who shrugged, it was as fair as they were going to get from Heaven and signed the document that sealed Aziraphale’s fate.

;

Aziraphale’s smile dropped as he opened the door to find demons behind Gabriel, he took a hesitant glance to his superior, but Gabriel just shook his head tightly grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders and practically dragging him in the bookshop.

“Hello Aziraphale,” he said pleasantly, though there was something at the edge of his voice that almost sounded like disgust, “I am so proud to tell you the almighty has blessed you with an important task.”

Aziraphale glanced towards the demons, he knew the tall one in the trench coat, that was Hastur. He was the one always yelling at Crowley from the shadows when he didn’t think he did the jobs right (usually due to Aziraphale being too soft with temptations). He didn’t know the short dark haired and rotting demon but he knew of them. It could only be the Prince of Hell themself.

Aziraphale found himself breathing hard glancing up towards Gabriel, who had yet to let him go, smiling down at him in a way that could only mean trouble. Trouble that wouldn’t just end in a stern talking to or another memo.

“Them?” Gabriel said simply following Aziraphale’s gaze, “Those are your new friends, but I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Roughly, he yanked up Aziraphale’s dress shirt and vest, shoving a cold hand onto Aziraphale’s stomach making him jump. He closed his eyes, concentrating a moment, glowing bright enough to make the demons hiss in displeasure and Aziraphale clamp his eyes shut after being temporarily blinded.

“Seeing as you like being intimate with demons,” the pleasant tone was dropped completely for one of disgust as he stared down at Aziraphale, “Or else you wouldn’t have been able to conceive something so demonic.”

He shoved Aziraphale towards Hastur who held tight onto him, sinking his fingers harshly into Aziraphale’s shoulders making him squirm. 

The last things Aziraphale saw before Hastur rendered him unconscious after sticking a needle surprisingly gently into flesh was Gabriel rubbing his hands in disgust onto his suit after giving the Prince of Hell a handshake.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” were the last words he would hear from anyone for sometime.


	4. 2000: Crowley's Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strongly hinted non con element in this chapter.

Crowley didn’t find Washington that different from London, the weather was the same, the coffee was still awful and overpriced. The only thing missing was Aziraphale. In his six thousand years walking among the mortals, Aziraphale had always been where he was, it was wrong to not have his angel now.

Unknown to Crowley the last time he would hear from his angel for another seven years was an odd call at 3 in the morning. He barely got out a hello when he immediately hung up the phone. 

That wasn’t too abnormal, it just meant Gabriel showed up unannounced (again) or another annoying customer touched one of his precious books.

He didn’t worry about it for another week, until he had a strange nightmare that sent him running back to London. Abandoning his mission of seducing the minds of congressmen. He wouldn’t even book a flight, the mortal routes were too slow, he spread his wings and shot off.

The nightmare wasn’t something just in his mind. He knew that in his black soul, and he knew before he even got to the book shop he had lost Aziraphale.

;

_Crawly, can you hear me?_

He did hear the disembodied voice; it was dark and no other presence could be seen. He felt himself moving in this darkness and heard the tromping of heavy feet across a stone cobbled hallway. Slowly, with each echoed clomp, Crowley’s vision began to focus and he saw it wasn’t as dark as previously thought. Doors lined the walls of the well lit but extremely narrow hall, each had a number on them, he tried to catch them but his head wouldn’t turn to them. He was forced to only see straight ahead.

He ended his walk at the very end of the long hall, a larger door stood in front of him, a prison door made of steel intending to keep anyone from escaping and anyone from entering. He glanced to his side and found he wasn’t as alone as he thought. Hastur crept up behind him, bowing low, practically crawling to keep as low as possible, at his feet. The Duke was bellow him and knew his place. 

He pulled up a key ring and unlocked the large door, he had found a new mission, guarding his master’s new favorite pet. No one but he was allowed to touch this pet. His new favored possession carried with him something special, something new, something evil and Crowley instantly sensed it as he stepped in the door.

_Your angel sang Crawly, sang a beautiful song, oh yes darling, his soul cried and cried for you while his body was forced to rest._

Crowley screamed curses and threats that never made it to the physical plane, that remained lost to the darkness. They stepped into the room and a light turned on revealing Aziraphale, his angel, unconscious on dirty floor with only a makeshift bed of ratty blankets under him. 

He felt himself crouch down by his love, no not him, he was realizing with faint horror he was following someone else. He was following his dark lord. Long, pale, spindly fingers caressed Aziraphale’s cheek and another hand tousled platinum blonde curls. 

_I must say darling, you are always full of surprises. This is why you were always my favored apostle. Seducing one of her favored angels and planting the seed that would end all? No-one, but you would have it in them!_

Those long spindly fingers traveled down, very slowly popping open each button on Aziraphale’s person. So agonizingly slowly stripping Aziraphale bare, tossing the clothing aside. Aziraphale mercifully stayed unconscious during the entire dehumanizing and humiliating ordeal but Crowley was forced to watch every item removed.

He protested loudly as fingers slowly began unbuttoned his old 1920s undergarments, the sleek and form fitting pearl white ensemble Crowley had always hated. They were more like swim wear then anything and left almost everything to the imagination, very prim and very prudish just like Aziraphale liked to pretend he was. He slid Aziraphale to the side sliding his arms from the last piece of clothing hiding him from prying eyes and playfully wiggled the rest of the garment down Aziraphale’s hips.

_I know you don’t like sharing darling, I am truly sorry I must take what is yours without permission. But, I need to slip a piece of me into the child, making him my son just as much as yours and this is the best way to do it. I shall reward you later, Crawly, do what you want from now till the end. My treat. In seven years, you may even have your whore returned to you, just be patient until what is mine comes out._

Crowley screamed waking in cold sweat, he trashed his hotel room. He destroyed every last piece of furniture and then went on to wrecking his car rental just for the hell of it. Something to mend the pain. When the anger faded, when there was nothing in possession left to destroy, the desperation set in and he made his way back to London.

;

Soho was quiet and Soho was dead when the Bentley pulled up to the bookshop. There were a few stragglers walking the streets, the drunk and the homeless mainly, desperate souls that sought Crowley out. Souls breaking and in need of saving, easy souls for the taking. 

Crowley ignored their desperate cries crying out to be taken, begging for him to ‘save’ them with damnation. He ignored the beggar asking for change and the drunk asking if he could bum a ride from him, pushing past them and running into the book shop.

“Aziraphale!” he screamed out seeing the light on in the back room and silently begging, praying to bloody Her for the first time since the fall. Racing to the backroom, he knew he had lost everything, he didn’t sense his angel, but he wasn’t alone either.

A young woman sat drinking a cup of coffee at Aziraphale’s desk, looking towards a small lump on the couch that was rising and falling. She was finely dressed, a bright red button up coat dress and black high heal boots. The only touch of imperfection was the messy black hair framing a pretty brown skin toned face. Her make up was perfectly maintained despite the hour, lip stick leaving a red stain on his angel’s white china cup. She tapped her manicured nails impatiently, as if she had been expecting him and he was late for this meeting.

“I’m guessing you are the demon?”

Crowley didn’t answer that snarling loudly, silently demanding who the hell she was and why she was here.

“Maria Device,” she said with a shrug, a hint of an accent to her voice, “I’m new to this game but I can seal a demon just as well as my husband could if you want to play hard ball.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t be too late to get to the angel in this equation but he was long gone when I arrived last weak and his demon is late.”

“How the bloody hell do you know any of this?”

“My husband’s family has been following the prophecies given to them by their ancestor and it was foretold long before I was born or even met my husband, I and my daughter,” she nodded to the lump, “Would be involved in stopping the apocalypse but we are a little late to save the angel from hell, so we have come to give wisdom to his demon.”


	5. 2000-2004 Aziraphale's Isolation P1

Aziraphale stayed huddled in the corner he had deemed his, a ratty blanket covering his bare body and chills travelling through him, tears leaking from his eyes. Hell was all he had ever thought it would be and yet more. He expected some sort of company in hell, someone here to torment him, someone here to pick at his fears and insecurities, someone to blame for his suffering.

There was no one to blame but himself. He was thrown here because of his sin. He touched his stomach, still soft and tender, no visible signs of the pregnancy yet. He messaged his fingers against the fat, gnawing on his lip, he felt its presence there inside him but just barely. 

He ran his fingers over the only thing they had left on him, a collar, it was steel by the feel of it. It was firmly secured on his neck and it was far from comfortable, but besides the hurt to his pride, it wasn’t painfully tight. It the dark it was hard to see anything, so he didn’t know what the state of his body looked like. 

At first feeling the collar he had been afraid to move, fearing it was connected to something but after hours? Days? Of just sitting still, he had finally found the nerve to attempt movement. He was able to wander freely around his confined space. It was a perfectly square area he decided after walking around the perimeter a few times, hand gliding across the thick stone. No bigger then the cleaning supply closet in the book shop. Confined but enough room to stretch out. 

He had searched through the darkness for his missing clothing and found himself crying in his corner, burying himself under his blankets after being unable to find them. There was just something about being naked that made him feel so vulnerable and weak. He found himself crying more knowing someone had to have stripped him of his clothing without his consent. He forced himself not to think about what else they may have done.

He attempted miracles at first, just basic things, like summoning his clothing back and opening the large steel door or even bringing light to the darkness.

It never worked, he ran his fingers across the collar and groaned loudly feeling the sigils, they were there to keep him helpless it seemed.

He knelt down and he did the only thing he could do and prayed. No matter how often he prayed in the darkness, no answer would ever come.

;

Fatigue was still there; it was the constant thing that Aziraphale hadn’t left behind in his book shop.

He found himself nodding off in his corner, uncomfortable as it was against the hard ground and as cold as it was with only blankets to cover his flesh, he still found himself nodding off. Sometimes he would wake to the same naseau that plagued him before.

He often woke after long periods of sleep to find a new presence in his cell. A warm scent of strong Grey Earl resting by his head. He picked up the metal cup, lukewarm as the liquid inside.

He turned his head to the taste of bitter tea early in his confinement. Turning his nose to the unsweetened substance that made his stomach rebel and make a mess in his cell that would fester and rot and linger until he would finally pass out once more and someone would clean it. 

He went a few days, maybe even months, he didn’t know how to properly keep track of time down here, without the food. He awoke without realizing he had even fallen asleep and felt his stomach lurch, he found himself vomiting out an entire meal.

Somehow the prospect of being alone wasn’t as scary as the prospect of never knowing free will again. If he didn’t find the meal to his approval, it would just be forced in him anyway when he was asleep.

He found himself fighting sleep after that, hating the thing growing in him that forced him to sleep and forced him out of commission when they came. He couldn’t even properly plot to escape with no knowledge of when they came or how they saw him.

Soon, he found himself accepting it and the plain sandwiches (always the same ham and cheese) and plain tea left for him. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something. 

A small something to ease the pain.

;

There was little to do but sleep here. No books to be sorted, no reports to complete, no Gabriel to fret about, nothing but himself and the darkness around him. His mind never quite shut off. He had spent countless hours imagining passages in his favorite books, fretting over if he got them right, even getting into arguments with his own mind whether that was correct or not.

He knew ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’ by heart. He had been lounging in Oscar’s office when he penned it, listening to him mumble to himself about the right wording and occasionally offer Aziraphale fine wine and whiskey during his breaks.

Aziraphale paused in his retelling of the book in his head and tried to picture Oscar once more. Large man, such tender hands, he always liked to grip Aziraphale’s bottom and slip fingers into him while he thrusted into him from the front.

He fretting as he imaged Crowley, kind and caring Crowley, a servant of Hell who always fretted when they made love. He wasn’t confident as Oscar nor as experienced. 

He felt sinful and disgusting doing so while demons may well be watching him, but he had nothing else to do in the dark.

Nothing else to do here but think of past love and spread himself with his fingers and indulge in something.

He vaguely remembered overhearing two pregnant women in his shop, they were thinking of starting a book club to pass the time and they were mumbling to themselves about how they had more urges while they were pregnant. Urges their husbands didn’t want to fill.

Aziraphale flushed and moaned, maybe it was true. He missed Crowley even more, he would be perfectly accepting of attending to these urges.

;

You could only pleasure yourself so long before even that didn’t sustain the loneliness and longing for someone else to be with you. Aziraphale found himself sitting by the steel door, hand desperately touching the cold frame, chills running through his bare body. His stomach was large and taunt now but without much nourishment and only waking to find the bare minimal to keep the baby healthy, his weight was beginning to go under. Just as his mental well being was going under.

He clawed desperately at the door, he didn’t care who was out there, he just yearned to not be alone anymore in the darkness.

“Please,” he sobbed desperately scratching the door, “Please. I just need someone. Demean me, I don’t even care anymore. Its been so lonely in the dark.” 

He had never been truly alone before, not like this. In the Garden, he had Adam and then Eve. He had the animals she created. He had Crowley. He always had Crowley. Since the very beginning he had Crowley there to fill the hollowness inside him.

He would even take Gabriel now; he would gladly take his boss chiding him about enjoying ‘gross matter’ he would accept anything if meant an end to the silence. An end to the darkness.

“I do what you want of me!” he found himself screaming pounding on the door, “I eat! I sleep! I don’t even harm the foul beast growing in me!”

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore…”

He pounded against the door until he wore himself out and passed out against the door frame. He hoped there would be some small change, any change when he woke but there wasn’t.

He was still alone and there was still no light. He was lost in the darkness still.


	6. 2000-2004: Hastur's Watch

Hastur wasn’t a terribly creative demon nor was he a terribly empathetic creature, in fact, in his opinion those things were far from needed to be a servant of Satan. You only needed to know how to do one thing: take orders. And Hastur was very good at two things: giving orders and taking orders.

Sitting outside of Crawly’s whore’s cell, he found he preferred giving orders rather then taking them. He missed lurking with Ligur even if he was aware the whore carried something truly important to bringing on the next war. He lit a cigarette and stretched back in his little wood chair and just waited. Seven years really wasn’t that long. It proved how important he was if the Dark Lord himself appointed him this task.

;

Crawley’s whore cried a lot and that was the first impression Hastur got from him. It was pathetic really. Ligur would never cry being in the dark, a demon should never mate with something this pathetic unless you were tempting it astray from the light. Crawly wasn’t doing that or this whore would have already fallen. No, Crawly just seemed to be spoiling the thing, treating it like a little pet. Cuddling up to its light.

The Dark Lord approved of such things, found them amusing even but Hastur didn’t have to approve. Crawly found the weakest angel in Heaven and just flattered the pretty thing to spread its legs and then suckled on its light like a babe to its mother’s tit. Demons couldn’t love, maybe they could lust or appreciate other demons as Hastur did Ligur but they sure as hell didn’t love so Crawly must be using the whore.

It was boring sitting for long stretches of hours, he pressed his ear to the door, the whore was being quiet. He frowned, he would know if he was injured, the collar was to alert them of those things. He was just being have himself and that made it more boring, he couldn’t even yell at the whore or torment him, his orders were to just wait. Beelzebub and the Archangel Gabriel were the only ones permitted in the whore’s cell; his job was to just listen. Make sure the angel behaved, keep nosy demons out and slide in food when he felt the whore sleeping. 

He was thinking of Ligur and the cemetery they liked to lurk in, the gravestones they liked to slide behind, the curses they liked to carve into them for mortals to find when he arrived.

Same time as always, the archangel Gabriel on his monthly visit, he sneered in his direction. The bastard expected him to bow to him, treat him with respect and lavish him with grandeur. Fat chance on that, he would watch Ligur drown in holy water before he did any such thing to an angel.

He stayed seated, scratched absently at his armpit as the angel glared at him, expected something of him that would never come.

“I can not miracle myself in?”

He always talked to Hastur in that way, like he was stupid and something beneath him. Not someone to be respected or feared but something stuck to the bottom of his Versace loafers. Something foul and something disgusting he would rather not touch with his hands but nothing he would be concerned with. 

“And?”

Hastur puffed out his chest and challenged the archangel who rolled his eyes.

“Unlock it?”

Done with this pointless encounter, Hastur finally did as asked. He kept the door open while the angel worked, he thought it would be rather funny to lock the archangel in as well. Just give the whore someone to play with awhile until the prince finally made him release the pompous ass but he had orders to obey and they didn’t include doing that to the angels.

;

Hastur was scratching a rough patch of skin, dry and peeling from the lack moisture he had been allowed to wade through as of late.

The whore was asleep, he opened the door and walked in finding the food untouched, as it had been untouched for the last few days. It was going on a weak without the angel eating. Soon it was two and then a month.

Hastur wasn’t concerned but as he paced the narrow hall, he vented about it to Ligur who had graciously shown his presence here.

“Just force food in the whore,” Ligur said firmly snatching Hastur by the waist and pulling him into his lap, dampening his itchy, dry scales with a moist towel he brought with him, “Orders are orders, the whore must live for the war to begin but not after. Let him starve himself after the master’s child is born.”

Hastur hissed but leaned into Ligur, possibly melted into him, demons didn’t trust. That was preposterous and they certainly didn’t love but he indulged in Ligur. He liked the way Ligur did minimal annoying tasks for him and he liked to give him the same inconveniences. 

“That is frustrating,” Hastur said simply, “This assignment is a test of patience. I don’t understand why I can’t make the underlings watch and listen to Crawly’s whore cry.”

Hastur missed simple assignments, ones that didn’t involve creative thoughts to get them done. Ones that were not tedious and were part of his normal routines he had been partaking in since the fall, since they lost the first war. Hastur liked giving orders and creatures squirming at his feet, he wasn’t a fan of it being the other way around. This assignment would be much easier if he were allowed to interact with the angel, break the angel himself, snarl and yell until he ate himself.

“I thought ya liked suffering,” Ligur smirked to him, maybe playful to humans but they were demons, so it likely didn’t hold that much affection for them.

“I like suffrage of others,” Hastur corrected, hissing as Ligur began rubbing that awful lotion on his flesh, the one that smelled of flowers he knew he hated, to keep him in a constant state of annoyance while he waited out the long seven years.

;

On the third week the angel refused to eat, Hastur found himself waiting outside the cell with Prince Beelzebub as the angel Michael inspected the angel while he slept. He lit up a cigarette and shared one with his prince. He had never felt more equal to his prince.

Both sitting on uncomfortable wooden stools, waiting outside an area neither wanted to enter and both were perfectly fine with another party dealing with it.

“Why do we gotta watch the useless angel all the time?” Hastur finally groused to the prince, “No one can access this area and all it does is cry and sleep.”

“Stop your useless belly aching,” the prince snared taking another drag and stretching themself out in their chair, “You are here to make sure the angel doesn’t expire prematurely. Make sure it eats and doesn’t harm itself.”

“And I can’t interact with it and force it to eat why?”

The prince took a large puff and shrugged their shoulders, the flies swarming the hall and there was almost sympathy on their face.

“We fester in the dark,” their prince began taking another long drag, finishing the bud off and flicking it into the vacant and quiet hall, “Angels need light. They thrive on her grace and her love. They can not survive long without it; it drains their very core. Bleeds them dry.”

The prince lit another cigarette and the flies swarmed into the smoke, soaking it all up like sponges.

“We wish for the child to be more demonic then angelic, take more after his fathers then the one carrying him. The angel won’t live through the birth, too much blood will be lost, not enough angelic power will be left. Hell eats at it, the sigils eat at it, and the child eats at it. He will either fall and be one of us or die and fade away. You are here to make sure that doesn’t happen prematurely. You are here to make sure Crawly doesn’t barge in demanding his whore back.”

“Didn’t you bar him from hell anyhow?”

The prince nods their head and takes another puff, “The dark lord refuses to let me execute the traitor. He amuses him. Says his punishment will be what becomes of his whore.” 

They sigh a moment before adding, “Crawly is a crafty bitch, don’t let your guard down.”

“Don’t let anyone know I said this, isn’t properly demonic of a demon prince,” Hastur stared at his prince, “But I pity the poor bastard in the cell. If he were one of my subjects, I would be merciful and execute ‘im. Not leave him to go mad in the dark wishing for death.”

They both rose at the angel walking from the cell, glaring towards both demons. The angel began barking orders about how to properly keep the baby healthy, not giving a single shit about one of their own suffering.

Hastur considered a moment, thought of Ligur suffering like this and thought he would willingly put him out of his misery. He supposed he could spare a passing thought of sympathy for the one he guarded.


	7. 2000: Crowley's desperation p1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like making these chapters short since I am writing another longer fic at the same time and I don't want to fall behind on updates. So sorry if its like you get tired of these tiny little chapters

Aziraphale had been all Crowley truly had since the beginning and he had never felt true sorrow or loneliness until he was out of reach.

He sat on the roof of the book shop, star gazing as he often did when he felt he was alone and had no where to turn. He turned his head to the empty space next to him, sighing he tightened his hands behind his head and turned back towards the stars.

Aziraphale was pregnant. They were having a baby and Crowley knew he should feel joy at the prospect. He loved children and he loved Aziraphale, if it was just them, if he was here, he would be over the moon. He would feel content and happiness the first time in his existence at the very idea of having a family, something to love and protect, go against his demonic nature and nurture something important.

It wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when he got Aziraphale, he would have a very difficult choice to make. Would he kill their child for humanity? Would Aziraphale let him? If he didn’t, what would they do? Raise a ticking time bomb and just let it explode? 

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, willed there from the recess of his memory. 

He could see it clearly in his mind, 1974, Aziraphale was drunk and leaning over him, snatching his cigarette from his mouth and taking a long drag and blowing a playful cloud of smoke in his face.

He had face planted into Crowley’s lap seconds later and nearly burned down the book shop when he dropped the cigarette.

Crowley was just sober enough to read him the most romantic book he could grab, which happened to be George Orwell’s Animal Farm and it had led to a strange conversation about which side had invented slaughterhouses.

Neither had smoked since 1985 and the human research departments were linking cigarettes more and more to diseases. Crowley didn’t feel very demonly quitting just because old people and children hung around Soho, but Aziraphale wanted to quit the human way and it was just easier to quit then deal with his angel’s mood swings. Aziraphale would always get what Aziraphale wanted, it didn’t matter how much Crowley tried to argue against that hard truth.

Crowley felt destructive without Aziraphale, he took a deep drag and let smoke waft around him. He wouldn’t give the little girl that woman had dragged all the way with her lung cancer so he smoked up here, but he wanted nothing more then to burn London down. It wouldn’t help anything and would just be a nuisance to him, but he wanted to give some sort of message. Let them feel his anger.

Instead, just smoked a pack and drank a bottle of strong whiskey and stared into the stars. He traced a constellation with his fingers, smoke caught in the wind and creating a thick fog around him. 

He glanced over hearing Aziraphale’s creaky bedroom window pop open bellow him.

“Demon,” he blinked, and the smoke instantly disappeared and he was sober instantly at the little girl’s voice, “Mom says you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself and come downstairs. She made dinner.”

“I don’t—”

“She says she doesn’t care, come down or she will seal you in her bowl and force you to come down.”

Crowley despised this woman, full of herself this one. Masters one or two little spells and thinks she can strike fear into a demon like him? What did she take him for? He wasn’t a low-level sin demon, he was the original trickster demon, the one who helped humanity fall from grace.

What he hated most was he needed her; he needed a witch. He would never see Aziraphale again if he waited for the birth and he knew that, he needed to steal him back from hell and the only ally he could possibly have in this suicide mission was a human.

“Move aside,” he grunted at the girl as he hefted himself over the side of the roof and hung in front of the bedroom window, the tips of his boots balanced on the ceil. The girl huffed, not afraid of him and moved aside so he could enter.

He followed her down to the shop and into the kitchen, her mother was setting the table for them. He glared towards her as she placed the steaming plate of baked fish in front of him and she glared back, stabbing a fork into his food as a threat before sitting across from him.

;

The backroom was Aziraphale’s little haven, he kept his favorite books here and his private diaries and paperwork were boxed and stacked next to his messy desk. His computer was sitting there, still blinking and still on where his love had left it. A ring stain from his cup of tea Maria had already cleaned but the subtle little print Aziraphale had been forcefully taken was still there. Crowley sat in his chair by the fireplace and stared at the lovely rack of vintage wine secured tightly on the wall longingly but figured it was improper, even for a demon, to get drunk in front of a nine-year-old. Instead, he picked up Aziraphale’s journal sitting untouched on the inn table between the chairs and flicked to the last date that had been written, three months ago, November 12th, 2000. 

Maria sat at Aziraphale’s desk, hair pulled up in a messy bun, apron covering her bright red beaded shirt and scribing into a bowl. Mumbling to herself every few minutes in Spanish, it had a different accent and dialect then he was used to and hadn’t spoken the language in 500? 600? Whatever amount of years and didn’t catch half of the mumbles.

Anathema was a well-behaved girl and sat on the sofa, already in her cute little PJs with the dancing bunnies pattern. Crowley had always liked kids and he liked the girl was easier to talk to then her mother. She had her face glued to the screen of a pink Game Boy with peeling and faded stickers pressed to every inch of the back. She looked content and busy like her mother and would likely snap at Crowley for interrupting her, so he went back to his angel’s diary. The last thoughts he had before he lost him.

‘I fear there is something deeply wrong with me. I don’t know who to turn to about this either, it would worry Crowley and it would likely anger Gabriel I broke my corporation.’

Crowley sighed shutting the book, guilt filling his chest, if he had told him he was getting pregnancy symptoms, could Crowley have stopped Hell from taking him? How did they even find out? He skimmed through Aziraphale getting off topic about his illness and instead discussing something he found equally as important as his sickness, a customer had offended him by ‘crudely’ asking him if he sold coffee as well as books. Aziraphale was shocked, appalled and disgusted when the young man told him how it was becoming popular in America for bookstores to do such things.

‘I told the man how they may have lost their dignity and their appreciation for the written word in America but in this shop, not a drop of ‘EXPRESSO’ would be permitted around my books, my books were only allowed to be touched or even viewed for that matter by those with a love and passion as deep as my own and I firmly but politely told him he wasn’t welcome in my shop.’

Crowley snickered, he wished he had been here to see that, no doubt the added hormones were making Aziraphale more temperamental then normal with ‘unworthy’ people around his books. 

Crowley skimmed through a deep and thought-provoking view on ice cream and ice cream flavors. Aziraphale loved three things with his entire being: books, food and Crowley. Crowley didn’t know whether to feel honored or offended Aziraphale put as much passion in talking about how he enjoyed ice cream as he put into talking about how he was frustrated Crowley didn’t understand the speed limit.

At last he found something worthy of note in Aziraphale’s rambling thought process.

‘There has been a demon lurking about Soho. No doubt to keep tabs on me while Crowley is away, I faintly sensed him today while I helped Mrs. Thompson load her lovely fresh pastries into her truck. It has to be a Gluttony demon; its aura was faint and I felt a terrible hunger pain from a few patrons in the shop. It was weak but he was there. Must be careful if I am being watched.’

It ended with worry about Gabriel and reports he needed to complete but Crowley shut the book. Sin demons were a dime a dozen, there were hundreds of them, but not everyone of them was under Hastur’s watch. He had been forced to do Hastur’s dirty work enough times and get his lot of sin demons under control to know he only had one Gluttony demon he was in charge of. 

“Oi,” he yelled over to Maria who glanced up from her work, “When yer done with making yer safety net to keep me in line, can I make a request to catch a specific demon?”

Maria scowled at him, offended, putting down her half-made clay bowl she was carving into.

“This is not for you, don’t be so vain!” she shook her head firmly, “What do you think? I am stupid? Ill prepared for the mission I came all this way to attend to? I already read the angel’s books and I am making a special trap for a gluttony demon now.”


	8. 2004: Aziraphale's Isolation P2

Aziraphale had a hard time sleeping now, the creature inside him made it impossible to become comfortable. He paced and he sat, and he stretched across his ragged blankets in every position he could think of, but the pain wouldn’t stop.

He moaned at the ache that gradually got worse travelling up his back, he could barely keep the food down. It all came back up as vomit.

He only rested when they forced him under, he would wake to his mess cleaned and a strange smell of ointments. They vaguely helped the ache, they didn’t want him dead so they would have to mind to his pain eventually he supposed, but he still didn’t know why they bothered.

He took a sip of the ginger tea and surprise of all surprises; they changed his normal meal. No longer did they leave stale bread and ham that made him want to never eat again, but a thermos of what tasted like broth. 

He rested his swollen back against the steal door and cringed feeling the beast moving around. Was it supposed to hurt? He had heard of minor aches from the young women of Soho over the years but never full on pain from the child shifting and kicking and growing.

“You know if you would like the creature healthy, maybe you ought to tend to the vessel better then you have,” he spat venomously, “You are barely giving it nutrition. I don’t suppose you lot know much about common health procedures though, do you?” 

“You know Gabriel doesn’t either,” he spat, hot tears leaking from his eyes now, “If he did he would take to punishing me after you got what you wanted. I’ll likely have a miscarriage in this filthy cell, putting this blasted collar on me gives you control of me sure, but it also means I can’t magically fix my own problems. Without miracles, I can and will get human diseases but what do I expect of demons? You lot lost the first time around for a reason…not a lick of sense in any of the denizens of hell…”

As always, he was met with silence and he snarled loudly in frustration, he pounded against the door hard with his fist, leaving a dull ache. He wobbled to his corner and wrapped a blanket around him. 

;

There wasn’t a lot to do but sleep, so he slept and for the first time in his existence, he dreamed. 

He walked through a meadow, the trees large and shading him from the bright summer heat. He glanced up and smiled towards it, soaking in the heat, he had never been a fan of intense smelting summers like this but after being in the cold and dark so long it was a welcome change.

“Dad!”

He paused in his stroll and nearly toppled over at something smashing into him, he chuckled softly feeling a strong sensation of love. It came over him in waves, gathering inside him and washing to the smaller being clinging to him, he had never felt such intense love. He had felt love, yes, but this was consuming sunshine compared to the normal welcoming warmth.

There was a name on his lips and caught in his throat for the little being that filled him with such tender and pure love but it was lost to his mind.

“You were right, I just had to wait, my wings are coming in!”

“Let me see then, dear boy,” he chuckled running his fingers through blonde curls, thick and that light platinum color just like his own. His son looked so much like him, Crowley often groused that he wasn’t certain he even was his son. Not a drop of Crowley could be seen on their son’s physical form, it was all Aziraphale, but Aziraphale knew this was Crowley’s son each time he found joy in giving misfortune to people he deemed worthy of it.

His son clung to him tightly, closing his eyes, deep in concentration.

To the mortal eye, nothing happened. The wings weren’t strong enough yet to come to the physical plane, to bend reality enough to exist in a solid form and become flesh and bones. But Aziraphale saw the transparent outline shimmering in the summer light, glowing brightly, it brought tears to his eyes.

His fingers went through them, they weren’t solid just yet but a single feather fluttered to the physical plane. It landed in Aziraphale’s open palm, his son’s feathers were as unlike Crowley’s as his physical appearance was and it was as unlike Aziraphale as his mannerisms often were.

It was something new. It was something all his son’s own.

A lovely golden feather, sparkling in the sun, the sunlight and the warmth of summer days caught in it. Warmth and love glowing from it, bringing peace and love to anyone who touched it.

The tip though was a shimmering silver, moonlight brushed against the summer day. It captured cool nights where mischief was in the air, the kind of full moon nights when it just felt right to jump your neighbor’s fence and help yourself to their apple tree. It felt right to skinny dip at moon light and pull your friend in with you just to see the annoyance on their face.

It felt angelic and demonic and yet not. It felt like humanity and all it could be, sinful or holy.

;

Aziraphale woke with a gasp, clinging to his stomach, really feeling his child for the first time. Feeling his love and compassion at the idea of loving him, thinking of him as his own and not as a punishment the first time since he had felt him in his shop.

He felt tears running from his eyes feeling the brush of the feather from his dream in his hand, he ran it across his palm and felt like caught sunshine and caught summer nights. He clung to it tight a moment, a calm washing through him he hadn’t felt in so long, a feeling that things would be fine and it would end well.

He hid the feather under ratty blankets and prayed his captures wouldn’t find it, the little piece of solace his son gave him.

;

Aziraphale had always been weak, he knew this, and it was something he was told often. He hadn’t been in the great revolution, but he knew without a doubt if he had been, he would have figured out a way to squirm out of the battles.

He always had a way with words and he always knew the best way to misdirect King Arthur away from violent outcomes (even if it was ultimately what Heaven wanted).

In fact, that’s what he loved about magic. Crafting illusions and swaying someone’s mind without having really done anything at all. All with some mumbo jumbo words and swish of the hand, never having to rely on his real magic, no, this was part of the act. All he needed was to rely on his wit and misdirect attention to get the jump on the crowd.

He sat in his corner of the room, more determined than ever to get out of this hell hole. All he needed was for someone to open the door, he just needed one damned demon to give him a slither of light and he swore that’s all he would need.

“Stop it,” he hissed at his son kicking at his insides making him queasy, “If you wish to be born at all, you need to let me concentrate.”

He wasn’t bleeding out in a cell, he wasn’t losing Her light here, he just wasn’t. He didn’t know where this determination came from, but it was here, and he wasn’t going to cower away like he always did.

He wanted to see Crowley again, he wanted to feed ducks at St James, he needed to sit in his favorite chair and read his Wilde collection, he needed food that wasn’t this. That wasn’t prison food. He wasn’t about to live like this a moment longer and he certainly wasn’t bringing another life into this literal hell hole. 

He needed to show his son those things, he needed him to know life wasn’t this endless misery, there was so much love to be had and he intended to give it to him.

He took a deep breath, he wasn’t as heartless as to give himself a miscarriage, his son was innocent and he knew he loved him, would love him so dearly. Their son would have to be a right bastard, petty as Aziraphale and rebellious as Crowley, of course he was trying to tear out sensing Aziraphale’s pain. The pain wasn’t punishment, it was confusion. His son didn’t understand the discomfort forced on them and was lashing out. It wasn’t fair to blame the situation on him, his son didn’t lock him up, it was them.

He pressed himself against the far wall, stared out into the dark nothingness, if they thought he went mad enough to hurt himself, that’s all he needed for the blasted door to open.

He prayed and held his breath to hold the vile down, he could vomit when it was over but not before. He ran at the door and hit his shoulder as hard as he could against the metal door, he felt the tears forming at the pain. 

He concentrated on it as the tears began flowing faster.

He imagined Crowley. His head lying on Crowley’s lap, warm tea with sugar and milk and not just leaves and water, sitting in front of them. Crowley carding his fingers through his hair as he finally rested, finally allowed into the light, soft blankets covering him. His hand was on his stomach, feeling the child kick, it wasn’t intense, it wasn’t painful, neither of them were distressed.

They were home and at ease.

He got up and threw his shoulder at the door again, other arm protectively wrapped around his stomach. 

He vomited at the intense pain as his son lashed out inside, terrified and not understanding what Aziraphale was doing to them. What he had to do. He cringed and slammed his shoulder against the door again, feeling a snap, he screamed at the intense pain of knocking it out of place. He squatted on the ground and vomited until nothing was left and just stayed there, heaving, head pressed against the door. He smiled hearing keys in lock and it finally being opened while he was awake and aware.

“What the fu—”

He didn’t let Hastur finish, using the burst of adrenaline to knock the demon out of the way and bolt out into the lit hallway. 

He should have known it he wouldn’t get far, he was weak and couldn’t run, he staggered down the hall. Shivers ran across his bare skin, the pain of his shoulder and intense kicks from his terrified son slowing him down more, making him collapse to the ground in agony giving Hastur enough time to right himself and grab Aziraphale from behind as he faltered.

He was hulled back to the cell, kicking and screaming. Clawing hard at the demons flesh, biting his arm and striking whatever he could. He took pleasure in the fact Hastur couldn’t risk his son’s health fighting back against Aziraphale and could only hold him down and curse loudly and give empty threats.

“Gonna skewer you when that thing comes out of you!” Hastur snarled as they both hit the floor again as the angel bucked.

The energy was leaving Aziraphale fast and he knew he was passing out when his vision blurred and Hastur was finally able to heft him from the ground without much fight.

“Gonna regret this pretty one, yer gonna really wish you was dead when more of yer damn freedoms are gone,” he spat at him finally tossing him in the cell, he dropped the angel on the blankets on his corner of the room. Aziraphale knew he wanted to kick him, but he had to for once in his existence show restraint. He instead licked the oozing blood from a deep bite mark on his arm and spat it at the angel’s face making him cringe.

He pulled a set of manacles from his trench coat pocket and attached them to the angel’s wrists. Aziraphale began to struggle once more as he forced him to sit upright, back forced against the wall, but didn’t have the will anymore to do much.

Chains magically conjured from the manacles and attached themselves to the wall. Aziraphale felt himself panicking once more as his wrists hung weakly in front of his line of sight, the only thing he could reach now was his stomach, he could move his arms no farther then that.

“Thought ya were trapped before,” Hastur snared at him kicking his extra blankets away from him, far out of reach, “That was us treating ya like a prince.”

The cell door was slammed after that and Aziraphale was once more trapped in the dark.


	9. 2000: Crowley's desperation p2

“Have you ever sacrificed the innocent for your nefarious deeds?”

Crowley hummed to the girl’s question, fiddling with his thumbs and smarting his lips in mock thought. His sunglasses slipped from his eyes for the drama of it all and his serpentine tongue slithered out, flicking towards the girl. 

“Where do thinnnk mine demonic powers come from, little one?”

She didn’t budge from her spot across the table as he threw himself from the chair and it clattered loudly behind him. He let a little of his essence leak out and let his demonic aura known, her eyes widened seeing his aura change but she still didn’t budge.

“Oh yes, little one, I think you will make a fine sacraficeee.”

He shifted and changed into his snake like form, sunglasses clattering against the table and jacket falling against the ground. Anathema pouted her lips as her bared his fangs and his large python like form lunged towards her, wrapping himself tightly around her, binding her to the chair.

“I am not innocent,” Anathema declared firmly glaring into his snake eyes staring straight into hers, “Nor am I little, I am above average height for someone my age.”

“Are you surrre little witch?”

She gave him an even stare, thinking on it a moment before snapping at his snout with her teeth. Crowley chuckled unwinding himself from the girl and settling on her neck loosely, watching her too serious face shift to content as he allowed her to run her fingers across his scales.

“I am positive,” she finally answered matter of fact, “Papa says we are neither good nor are we evil, our witchcraft is neutral.”

“Nooo sacrifices of newborns naked in the pale moon light?”

Anathema pouted once more, gently smacking his snout with her fingers in reprimand.

“That’s sexist, only men think we gather naked.”

Crowley was about to inquire about the newborn sacrifices the wise nine-year-old had witnessed when they were rudely interrupted by her mother.

“Anathema, Niña, please go call Papa, he is worried and doesn’t believe we have this under control.”

She placed a kiss on her daughter’s cheek and gave Crowley an even glare, easily hefting the snake from her daughter and placing him around her shoulders.

“Come, demon, we have work to be done.”

;

“Why bring yer girl here at all?”

Crowley was glaring at the woman sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley. Maria took a sip from her coffee, he told her no food in his car, but she had ignored him. It wasn’t a stake out without coffee she had said firmly passing Crowley his own cup of coffee she poured from her thermos. Begrudgingly, he took it and drank it without complaint. Sitting in a car for two hours on the dead street waiting for the demon left little else to do.

“Anathema was prophesized to help prevent the end, we know this is not the end yet but if we do not stop it, it is good she gets as much experience in as she can.”

“That all she is to you? Another convenient piece to preventing the end?”

Maria glared towards him tossing her own sunglasses aside as the sun began to sink behind buildings and the streetlamps began to flicker to life. She had an even look on her face, calculating and thoughtful.

“You question my love for my child,” she stated glaring towards him, “What I must do to keep her and the rest of humanity alive, but you never give me a straight response when I ask what you are to do with your child.” 

It had been three months since the Devices had come to stay with him in Aziraphale’s little book shop. It was routine, every night Maria would inquire the same thing as she settled her daughter into Aziraphale’s bed (at Crowley’s insistence).

“When we find your angel, what then?”

The first night she had asked that, Crowley had been taken back, and had lashed out at the woman. 

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Crowley snarled instantly taking the offensive, “We’re bloody leaving. Ta hell with Earth and their wars.”

“I meant about the child,” Maria huffed out crossing her arms and glaring towards the demon.

Crowley never felt like having this conversation, so he always turned away, but sitting trapped in his own bloody car with this woman breathing down his neck, he felt he finally had to answer it.

“The damn child is a tumor growing in my angel,” he said grinding his teeth slowly, “I pick Aziraphale. You do what ya want with the baby, kill it or leave it in Hell, give it to Heaven, I don’t care.” 

“It is your son as well,” Maria tried to argue giving him an even look.

Crowley didn’t know how to respond, he thought of his angel in that small and disgusting cell, vulnerable and bare. He thought of his dark lord making him watch as he stripped him of his clothing and his freedom. His breathing was quickening and his eyes were misting thinking of him kissing Aziraphale on the lips in a sickening manner after defiling him, after taking him without consent and forcing his essence into him in a humiliating way Crowley was forced to watch.

“Thank your angel for me, Crawly, darling, thank him for the child he is giving us. Hold and kiss him as tenderly as you wish, he will deserve it after birthing our son.”

The anger was consuming, his blood was boiling, smoke was filtering the car at each ragged breath. Maria demanded he calm down through choked commands, she attempted to open the door, but it was locked, the Bentley sensed his anger and lust for blood and misinterpreted it. 

He finally got a grip of himself sensing another demonic aura. He glanced over watching with slight guilt as Maria tumbled from the car, holding her bright red scarf over her mouth trying to filter the smoke. She shot him an enraged look that called for his blood or someone’s blood at least as she toppled to the dirty sidewalk.

Crowley couldn’t meet her eyes, he stared straight ahead at the graffitied ‘No Parking’ sign, it was time.

For the dramatics of it all, he willed every flickering streetlight to go out on the street corner. He watched the demon freeze, head lurching up and shooting away from the apartment complex he was about to enter and landing on Crowley approaching him.

“Hey Tarrare! Its been awhile since we last met up, hasn’t it?”

The other demon hissed at him and puffed out his emaciated chest trying to intimidate Crowley. He was stupid as he looked not taking this chance to run. Gluttony demons were never the smartest, they only thought of the hunger consuming them and it must have ate at this demon’s brain since he was allowed the life style that would sate that hunger. He was wasting away on the streets, foul and dirty as his desires.

“What a good 200 years?”

The other demon didn’t respond backing against the doorway, contemplating making a break for it.

“I see someone is still bitter about the French Revolution, still blaming me for swaying the mortals’ hearts to get rid of your favorite meal tickets?”

Terrare should have run when he had the chance, the second Crowley was in reach, his façade of pleasantry faded, he grabbed the lesser demon by the throat, slamming him hard against the door behind him. His sunglasses falling from his eyes for the theatrics of it all, the other demon taking in his naked primal anger and desire for blood shed as he took in his glowing yellow eyes. Crowley’s hands tightening on the demon’s withered and thin throat with each snarled word.

“Thought what? Crowley won’t notice if I just take what’s his from him? Cause, oh I noticed, Tarrare, and for your own good, you will get back what’s mine or you will be soaked in holy water.”


	10. 2000: Crowley's desperation p3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not proud of this part. Like at all. Its so rushed but like I couldn't get it to sound better and I just want to get to the more interesting parts for me, so here you go.

“Are you going to fill me in on what the hell is wrong with you?”

Crowley said nothing, didn’t plan on answering Maria’s question. He lit a cigarette as they sat in traffic and she yanked it from his mouth and put it in her own, taking a long exhale. Maria didn’t look worse for where, when she said it would be easy to trap the gluttony demon’s essence in the bowel, she wasn’t wrong. The hard part was yanking Crowley away from him before he could discorporate him for the gratification of it and to release the pent-up rage he had been holding since that dream.

He said nothing, just snarling at the woman, he had nothing to say and he didn’t owe her his feelings. He was a blasted demon; it was far his job to give her kind nothings and promises that everything would be tickity boo or any other nonsense Aziraphale liked to tell mortals.

The fire was figuratively and literally roaring in his veins, heating up his blood and turning it into lava. 

He had hauled the gluttony demon’s corporation into the trunk. Maria mumbled how it felt like cleaning up a crime scene and they needed to hurry before anyone saw them loading a corpse. Crowley wanted to argue with her, but she was correct. Without the essence, the corporation was just a doll, just an empty suit, and the demon smelled enough like a corpse to set off any alarm bells.

He parked in the alleyway behind the bookstore, he wrinkled his nose at the stale garbage, it seemed the angel was letting his neighbors use his dumpster again, so they didn’t need to buy their own. Aziraphale was like that, he liked to help, he wanted to help. It was sad in a way how small acts of being needed cheered his angel up.

Anathema, unlocked the back door and ushered them in with a little huff at the foul smell of the practical corpse Crowley dragged in. He mumbled the entire way, made it seem like a hassle, getting under Maria’s skin on purpose the way he kept dropping the body and how she nearly tripped over it several times as she came in behind him.

Step one accomplished, they had a way into Hell now. The rest was unplanned and was still being argued about by a lazy demon and a controlling witch.

;

“Inhabiting another corporation ain’t so hard,” Crowley began one evening after Anathema had been tucked into bed.

“But you said you couldn’t enter hell,” Maria tutted pouring a glass of wine, the nasty cheap stuff that made Crowley wrinkle his nose but she forced a glass into his hand anyway.

Crowley wouldn’t let her touch Aziraphale’s prized collection, it didn’t feel right for someone to drink it without him after all and she had then left and came back with this. A generic and cheap American brand, she insisted it was just as good. This woman had no taste if this is what she considered refined, but what did he expect from a woman who didn’t prepare anything homemade and relied on prepackaged garbage.

“I can’t but he could, his corporation could, mine bears my mark and that mark keeps me from entering.”

She took an even drink of her wine musing on his response.

“Isn’t your mark on your soul? Or your true form? Whatever you wish to call what’s underneath the human skin you walk in.”

“Don’t bloody say it like that,” Crowley said scrunching his face in disgust, “You make me sound like that chap from Silence of the Lambs or Leather Face, we are a bit more humane then you ruddy humans, ya know.”

Maria said nothing continuing to drink her wine, picking up one of Aziraphale’s books and flipping through it.

“Even if you got into hell, then what? The gluttony demon knew nothing, wasn’t told anything about your angel, it could take years to find him.”

“I find Hastur,” was the stiff reply, “And to answer your other question, I just mask my true essence. His pitiful corporation should help enough.”

“Who the hell is Hastur?” Maria snarled and Crowley just began grumbling under his breath, what good were mortals? Even witches were useless when it came to matters of demons. He picked up the cheap wine and necked it, it was going to be a very long night.

;

Slipping into another corporation that wasn’t your own was like putting on someone else’s clothing and often, that person’s clothing didn’t fit you. Corporations were designed for very specific essences, made to contain and only exert as much aura as the contained essence had.

Gluttony demons were made of weak energy, all sin demons were created by other demons using a tiny portion of their essence. Lucifer with his boundless power that was only matched by the almighty herself made easy work of creating these lower demons.

Slipping into a sin demon’s corporation was like a grown man forcing himself into a child’s suit. It wasn’t made for you, it ripped at the seems and constricted movement but Crowley made it work, forced himself to fit uncomfortably in this vessel not made for him and stiffy walked around the shop.

Maria watched, extremely unamused, sitting behind the register counter and absently typing in keys making the machine ding. She kept glancing over at Anathema who was holding her breath to contain the giggles and each stern stare from her mother had her head sliding back down to her work of translating the prophecies.

“Why must you walk like you are auditioning for the next zombie movie??” the woman finally spat watching Crowley’s leg stiffly slide across the carpet. He was having trouble working the left leg, it stayed completely stiff as the right did all the work limping from bookshelf to bookshelf.

“It ain’t easy cramming all of me into this weak vessel alright?” he spat limping closer to the cash register, “I just have to adjust myself a little more before I can go down to hell.”

“And do what? Limp around there?”

Crowley scowled or he would have if he could get the lips to work right on his form, it was more like partially sneering with one side of the mouth while the other side sagged making it appear he had a stroke.

“I do recon, gather information, find out what part of hell Aziraphale is in then I save him.”

It was an obvious solution and an easy answer if you asked Crowley but Maria shook her head and opened her mouth to tell him off but the words never really came. She was stunned by the stupidity of it all.

“You aren’t even considering my plan?” she demanded stomping her foot like a child.

“Your summoning circle is nice, lotta work to make it, I’m sure,” Crowley sneered, “But it ain’t happening. You don’t have a piece of Hastur to summon him, summoning from Hell is even harder than your movies make it seem, believe me on this.”

“Then what of a demon he cares for?”

Crowley snarled at her and shook his head firmly.

“Hastur isn’t like me, Maria, he doesn’t love. He doesn’t care. There is no luring him out by those means or trading one life for another. This is the only way.”

Maria didn’t look convinced but nodded solemnly.

;

It was the end of summer and there was no convincing her husband Anathema needed to stay in England with her. She wanted her child to stay and learn what it took to deal with demons and the basics of summoning, but after a few heated phone arguments with her husband, she eventually agreed. 

When she got back from the airport that final day of summer, there was a deep sorrow in her soul. She wanted Anathema to be ready, she wanted her daughter to always be prepared for anything and the end was coming, and her only child barely knew anything.

She was destined to be there when it all went down, when the fight for humanity occurred and everyday Maria felt an ache in her soul at the uncertainty of her daughter surviving.

She sat by Crowley’s true Corporation that merely looked asleep tossed on the couch the way it was, drinking a cup of coffee with, dumping surplus amounts of tequila into it. When the coffee was gone, the cup was discarded carelessly on the ground and she drank straight from the bottle. 

Crowley’s new temporary form stumbled in on this scene, he was getting the hang of walking but his feet still tended to drag.

“Tell me demon, are you prepared for the end?”

Crowley didn’t respond, holding out his hand as he flopped hard in the other reading chair in the back and Maria passed him the alcohol.

“Ain’t gonna be no end,” he grunted sloppily pouring the bottle in his mouth, he hadn’t got the hang of drinking and it always ended up spilling down his lips and soaking his clothing.

“Not fer me anyhow, I’m getting my angel back and that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Maria shook her head and chuckled, at least one of them could think positively.


	11. 2004: Hastur's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this can't stay dead forever

“Whore has a nice set of teeth.”

Hastur snarled loudly but Ligur didn’t release him, he held him tight on his lap and ran his tongue over the black ooze still soaking from Hastur before wrapping bandages around each deep wound. He hated to admit it but the whore did a number on him. Even as weak as he was, he left a fair share of bruises and the bite wounds had yet to stop bleeding.

“Whore ain’t gonna have skin left when I get done lashing ‘im,” Hastur sneered threateningly pounding his fist against the steel door they were leaning against, “Whore is gonna be strung up and won’t look so pretty smeared in ‘is own blood..” 

“Why didn’t you just use the whore’s collar to put him to sleep when he caused a commotion?”

Ligur said it with a snicker but Hastur felt himself bristling with his own stupidity. He snarled smacking Ligur’s hand from his head and rising from his spot, pacing down the narrow hall.

“I ain’t got that control, only the angels and the prince can do that, don’t trust me enough with that power.”

It was just how demons are, it didn’t matter if it benefited them, they didn’t trust others with matters like this. Lucifer only gave a small amount of confidence to Beelzebub to keep order and gave them a portion of his power. They sure as hell weren’t gonna trust another demon with that kind of control. And angels trusting a demon, what a world that would be.

“Ya told the prince about the slip up?”

Hastur remained silent and Ligur snickered grabbing Hastur from behind and pulling him back in his lap, playfully gnawing on the other demon’s throat.

“I think ya owe me a favor to keep a secret, eh?”

It would be quite the snowstorm in Hell the day a demon could trust another demon but Hastur felt chills running up his spine as he tried to tell himself a favor for silence wasn’t trust. He didn’t trust Ligur. What a world that would be for him to do something like that.

What a lie that was, a lie too often told between demons.

;

Aziraphale had yet to stop feeling cold trapped in his little cell but now with most of his ragged blankets kicked across the room, he felt like he would never be warm again. The chains clanked as he pulled his arms around stomach and turned against the wall, grinding his teeth across his bottom lip trying in vain to keep the tears from falling. The intense pain pounding against his lower stomach told him his child wasn’t very pleased either.

“It just occurs to me, I don’t have a proper name to address you by, my dear,” he mumbled running soothing circles around his stomach.

“Now I have a few options for us to think through and I don’t want to hear attitude until I have listed through them all,” he said it in his best no nonsense voice but there was a slight tickle travelling across his skin telling him his child knew he would never make due with his own threats.

“I wonder what you will truly be? An angel? A demon? A Nephilim?” he paused holding his stomach tighter, “I don’t believe what they say, no matter what you technically are, I don’t believe you are truly evil or desire to end the world, I think you are just confused and scared. You are a child…my child.”

He shifted enough to find the feather his child had gifted to him from the brief glimpse into the happy future he could only pray they would have. He ran his fingertip across it, took in its softness and its warmth, the sadness that filled him, it reminded him of Crowley and he just wanted to see his love again. He wanted him to meet his child and for them to be happy, all three together and safe.

“I rather like to think of you as a gift from our mother rather then some monster brewed in the depths of hell,” he said with a sigh chuckling at the tickles his child delivered, he fancied to think that meant they were pleased, “Crowley, your father, is a remarkable being. Not much a demon, not an angel either but I sometimes question if anyone in Heaven is as well.”

“How do you fancy the name Isaac? I felt a bit like Abraham the day I found out about you, little one, I don’t think I would be capable of a child either and maybe I would have had a laugh with Crowley about it as he and his wife did at the news if the situation had been different…”

He grimaced at the pain in his lower back, his child did not like that name.

“Oh well, we can decide later since you are so fussy on all my suggestions,” he grumbled playfully feeling relaxed enough to finally fall asleep.

;

Hastur paced after Ligur left him, the nauseating anxiety boiling over inside him, what would Beelzebub do if the angels showed up on their appointed day to find fresh bruising on the whore? To know Hastur hadn’t done anything really to stop it, he hadn’t reported his mistake not wanting to deal with the torture that would be the damage reports, and unauthorized he had shackled the whore. Oh, this wasn’t good. Not good at all for him and things had been looking up for him, he could have been staring notoriety in the eyes and a chance to never have to take another step on Earth again, dwelling in Hell, lounging in riches for all eternity.

Oh, he would never see Earth again alright but only because he would be stuck in the pits for a few eons. Maybe strung on a rack or impaled through a pipe. He sneered at the thought, he needed to get rid of the problem he made. He paced back and forth checking his hand watch, a present from Ligur, made in 1508 and cursed to drive any mortal who held it mad. Oh, one of Ligur’s finest works and Crawly might have called it plain but that was the way Hastur liked it, it didn’t need to be flashy like that bastard or his whore.

It chimed feeling the presence of a miracle from the prince, they were always too busy (or lazy) to come down here to pay Hastur or the whore a visit, so they miracled in the whore’s meals. Being the prince, they had a stronger presence down here then most demons and could bend hell in any way they desired, something only Lucifer topped them in.

Hastur decided he needed to enter the cell now and discuss things with the whore before things got out of hand. He unlocked the cell and took a step in.

The whore was waking up from their little nap they always fell into before the prince decided to send food their way (a miracle the angels came up with their little collar, it was almost demonic in practice) to keep them disorientated and unable to keep track of the coming and going of everything around him. The whore cringed at the light entering their space for the second time in some hours, but quickly righted himself glaring at Hastur.

“If you can be civil, I need to have some words with you, whore.”

He kicked the door shut behind him, not wanting to give the whore anymore chance of escaping and the dread that crossed their face was almost worth it after the problems he had caused.

The problem was, the whore was too much like Crawly, just like the bastard to pick an angel just like him, stubborn and insubordinate as he was.

“I refuse to have ‘words’ with any foul beast who can’t even address me by my name and instead calls me such a derogatory term.”

Hastur snarled and almost immediately backed out knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the whore and didn’t want to unleash his temper on him yet. He didn’t know why he would have even bothered. He snatched the whore’s broth and tea from its usual spot by the door and slammed it down hard by him in the new spot he was stuck in before stomping back out of the cell.

He felt his stomach flop, maybe if he begged hard enough Ligur would help him get rid of those bruises when he saw him next. If that wanker Gabriel saw them, he would know he let the whore out and didn’t go through the proper channels when he was making a fuss.

Hastur spent the rest of the evening pacing, he didn’t know what to do.


End file.
